That Which Should Not Be
by Angry Santo
Summary: What if Shirou had been raised by Old Man Henderson?


I know not from what perverse corner of my mind this monstrosity sprang forth.

I know only that I gave it birth.

Before you read this piece, I **_strongly _**recommend you look up "Old Man Henderson" on google and read through at least the first part of the article. Otherwise you will have no idea what the hell is going on.

With that said...Shirou raised by Old Man Henderson.

^( °Д°)=(This! Is! _**CRACK!**_)

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The child walked, leaving behind the screams of the dead and dying. Ignoring the calls for help, not paying attention to the countless men and women who looked to him, asking for but a moment of his time so they would not die alone.

Time passed. It could have been hours, minutes, or scant instants. The child knew not. All he knew was that he had to keep moving, even though he no longer remembered why.

His foot caught on a wire, his stumbling lurch interrupted, dropping him face first to the ash covered floor.

He looked to the sky, he could see the clouds parting, feel rain begin to pitter-patter to the ground. Slowly and steadily putting out the torrid flames. He raised a hand to the heavens, thinking he could maybe reach the skies. Or maybe, making one last statement, one last defiant exclamation, here he lied, here he died. The hand fell, the darkness on the edge of his vision rushing forward, claiming all he could see.

He was promptly shocked fully awake as he felt a size 12 combat boot step unto his privates, eliciting an agonized mewl from him.

"What tha'?" Said the man eloquently as he stepped back and investigated what had made the pathetic sound. The child opened his eyes and looked to the man that had caused him such pain, adding insult to the plethora of injuries he was feeling.

He was dressed in combat boots, khaki cargo shorts, a completely unbuttoned neon-green Hawaiian t-shirt with a sleeveless white undershirt, strangely enough, he had a stuffed green parrot hanging on his left shoulder. The child could not see the man's eyes, for he was wearing a pair of aviator shades, he sported one incredibly rugged beard and had his grey hair in a Mohawk. Supported on his right shoulder was what a gun-aficionado would recognize as a fully automatic AA-12 combat shotgun with a drum magazine.

At the moment, his features displayed outmost shock, his eyebrows having climbed almost to his hairline as his mouth was open in a perfect 'o'. He lowered himself to his knees, laying the shotgun down beside him on the ground. He stretched his trembling hands to the red-headed child in front of him, and in a chocked voice filled to the brim with emotion, said four words.

"Charlie? Is that you?"

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The blue clothed Lancer rushed through the streets. To think he had to abandon a good fight simply because he had been seen. Sure he did not get to go all out thanks to his piece-of-worthless-shit Master, but a good fight was a good fight nonetheless. And now he would be forced to kill some random schmuck because he had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Still, Lancer looked forward to the next time he saw that pretentious Archer. Lancer was going to have himself a good fight.

Lancer found the house he needed. A run-down western style building that was like a weeping sore in an otherwise pristine neighborhood. Not one to be deterred by the unkempt lawn or the small forest of pink colored plastic birds adorning it. He reached the nearly-falling-off-its-rusted-hinges door, kicked it down without preamble and shot inside. Hopefully he would be able to off the poor schmuck without trouble, he'd even do him the kindness of killing him quickly and painlessly.

Cu Chulainn had seen a lot in his time. Gods and gods. Wars and skirmishes. He had been from one corner of his homeland to the other, stealing hearts and wives. He had singlehandedly killed entire armies and fought his own son to the death. Hell, he'd chained himself to a tree so he would die standing after being tricked and betrayed. It would normally be safe to say that there is not much in the world that would throw him for a loop.

But when he saw his red-headed prey sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of the living room with a dead parrot sitting on one of the arm rests, inhaling from a bong that was in fact bigger than he himself was, while staring at a wall painted to look like a barren field with swords sticking out of the ground and holding the hand of what looked to be an artificial woman ('blow-up doll' he was promptly informed by his connection to the grail). He could not help but take a moment and simply stare.

"You know Rupert, Lucy. You guys have been great t' me." Said the redhead as he took another deep inhale of whatever thing was in that enormous bong. "Ever since my old man died…you guys have been keepin' me company. Not only that but you never ask for a hit! Cause you two know how much I love this shit! Not at all like what we had back in that rolling fart business."

Lancer could not help it, his sheer shock at what he witnessed exploded out of him before he properly formulated a thought. "W-What?"

Upon hearing the whispered exclamation, the redhead jumped out of his chair and labeled a weapon at Lancer's face ('Shotgun' provided the Grail). "Who ta' ruddy hell are you and what do you want with ma flamingos!"

"F-Flamingos?" Asked Lancer incredulously before the image of a large pink bird popped into his mind.

"I didn't ask you sunshine I asked _him!_" Screamed the redhead as he brandished the shotgun to the empty space to Lancer's right, he then narrowed his eyes at it. "You better start talking buddy, or I'ma kill your twin brother here!"

"Dammit look kid I'm here to kill you." Said Lancer, hefting Gae Bolg as he prepared to quickly accomplish his duty. "No hard feelings right?"

The redhead stared long and hard at Lancer before speaking. "Cu?" Asked the redhead softly.

To say Lancer was shocked would be the understatement of a lifetime. "H-How the _hell_ do you know my name!?" Managed to choke out the Servant, this kid had to die.

The redhead snorted. "I'd recognize that Gay Bulge anywhere! I took classes on Irish mythology back 'afore when I lived in the Sta-"

"ITS NOT GAY BULGE!"

"-ead up on motors so I could make a scooter and get back to me hometown he-"

"You did what!?"

"Not to mention the pesky pigeons!"

Lancer dropped his face unto his palms. "Look kid…I'm sorry, I'm out of time. I gotta kill ya. Ok?"

The redhead smiled. "Well color me confused but I seem to recall that an Irishman cannot refuse hospitality eh?"

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"Archer." Said Rin Tohsaka as her left eyebrow twitched erratically. "What _exactly_ am I looking at?"

The red-clothed Servant stared long and hard at the sight before them.

Splayed before them were the redhead that had interrupted their fight, an apparently used blow-up doll, a flying stuffed parrot that spat glowing runes, several swords and spears, shotguns, pistols, countless bottles of all types of alcohol, the largest bong in existence, and Lancer lying on the floor spread edged.

"Duuuuuuude!" Said Lancer, his pupils completely dilated. "I can see music! And dolphins! And a big dragon and stuff!"

The redhead took another hit off the bong. "Dude that's nothing man! You should _see your armor_ right about now! It's got this ice-fire thing goin! Cause, blue is a cold color right!? But because of all you've been smoking it took up fire! And its all ice-fire now man! Its awesome!"

Lancer looked at himself. "Shit me man dude! You're right! And…hey where is my gay bulge!"

"You stuck it in Lucy and she _fukken loved it!_"

"Good times! Hey Rupert! Bring me another scotch!" The flying stuffed parrot dive bombed into the kitchen. The sounds of glass bottles smashing together could be heard moments later.

Archer finally answered his Master's query. "I-I don't know."

Before Rin could say anything else the redhead shot to his feet. "I know what must be done! It's like I can see through the eyes of all of the me's across the multiverse! A wasteland of swords awaits me after I do what I can to uphold the impossible and am betrayed by it! Eventually becoming naught but a broken thing, the world's executioner and puppet! I must go back in time and kill myself in order to prevent this!"

Archer stepped back with surprise etched across his face.

Lancer began to giggle, the strength of his merriment sending the Heroic Spirit to the floor. "Dude you're so fucking high!"

The redhead looked at Lancer with an expression that screamed murder was about to be done, before he broke out into booming laughter, collapsed to his knees, and fell on top of the Servant. "Dude you're totally right!"

Rin planted her face on her palms. "Archer…let's…let's just go. My brain hurts." She turned and walked away without checking if he would comply.

Shell-shocked, Archer followed his Master back home.

Rupert dropped a fat tome on the redhead's face. He opened it up and began to flip through it.

"Duuuude!" Said the redhead. "I gots the _best_ idea in the history of _**ever!**_"

He then rushed out the door on his heelies.

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Kirei Kotomine turned at the sound of the opening door. Lancer had _finally_ returned from his latest scouting mission. He could not fathom why, but every time he had attempted to look through his Servant's eyes colors had been floating about in a dizzying manner.

Kirei saw that it was not Lancer who had come back, but a redheaded young man in a Hawaiian t-shirt colored a bright red wandering in on combat boots with skates of all things on their heels. He was quite surprised when fifty 12-gauge shells were pumped into his body at a speed of 300 rounds per minute. He could have sworn the young man's hands had been empty.

"MY NAME. IS. CHARLES! AND I WANNA KNOW WHERE YE MUCKLE DARN MAGI BE KEEPING ME HOLY GRAIL!"


End file.
